By: Punisher
They’d been at it for six hours now.
Mulder stared at their silhouettes and the harsh shadows cast by the
room’s bright bare bulb. It swayed gently. Still
moving from the last time one of them had bumped it.
“Come off it Mulder. If you just told us what you were doing there we’ll let you
go.” The tall M.I.B. said.
He pounded a glass of orange juice.
“I’ve already told you. I was conducting an investigation for the F.B.I.
If you file the proper inter-departmental coordination forms I’ll be
happy to share any fact with you. By
the way, I didn’t catch what agency you were with.”
The other M.I.B.
spoke up, his voice buzzing slightly.
His sallow face moved into the light.
Mulder didn’t like looking at it.
The man’s waxen features made him think of corpses and puking, though
not in that order.
“Are you investigating an X-file?
We know all about you.”
“Then you know what I was doing in there
don’t you?”
The wise-crack bought Mulder yet another
fist to the gut. They were careful
not to leave any marks. Mulder
didn’t know whether to feel relieved since they would let him go…or if they
didn’t want any marks identifying his body.
“Would you believe there’s an entire
F.B.I. task force waiting to raid
this place if I don’t make a phone call?” The M.I.B.s shook their heads.
The buzzing one drank more O.J.
“Didn’t think so.”
The buzzing one spoke again.
His voice a harsh whisper in the darkness.
“You have worn out my patience I’m afraid.”
The man stepped forward, an aura of perversion and the willingness to do
unmentionable things poured from him. Just
then the door opened. Another M.I.B.
came in carrying two frosted gallon jugs of orange juice.
“Here is more.
These are still partially frozen. I
tried to thaw them out but….”
“Enough.
Be gone.”
Mulder looked at the orange juice and had
an idea. “You guys sure do drink
a lot of orange juice.” They grinned at him.
From ear to ear, literally…
Mulder panicked.
He grabbed the first thing he could.
The half-frozen gallon jug of orange juice and smashed it into the tall
M.I.B.’s face. The man fell
backward, swallowing a lot of slushy orange juice and a whole hell of a lot of
his own teeth. Mulder turned on the
other one. The buzzing M.I.B. backed away. Still
grinning his impossibly wide grin…drool pooling on the floor from his mouth.
He raised a watch to mouth and chittered into it…impossibly quickly.
Just as quickly, six more M.I.B.s were in
the room. The tall one got to his
feet and spoke through his destroyed mouth.
“That was stupid.” They moved towards Mulder. He clenched his eyes shut and swung madly with the quickly
draining can of orange juice…. and just as he felt the hands grasping
him…the lights went out.
Bang….Bang…Ratatatatatat!
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“This is Alpha team…sector one is
clear. We’ve got eight Mi-Go
simulacrums down. Precious cargo is
in our possession. Fox Mulder?”
Mulder opened his eyes. He was covered in waxen bits of tissue, guts and brains.
In his face was what looked like a giant bug….until Mulder realized it
was just a man in a combat helmet and night vision goggles.
He nodded hesitantly.
“Come with us.” The man looked
around…then chuckled to himself. “Good
job with the O.J.”
Mulder looked…. he was still clenching
the bottle of orange juice tightly. He
let it fall. “Yeah, well they
seem to drink a hell of a lot of it.”
“Yeah…the folic acid helps them
maintain their bodies or something…. the tech guys haven’t figured it out
yet.”
Maintain their bodies? Mulder thought….
What the hell did I get myself into? He looked at the eight rapidly decomposing
corpses on the ground…”Would you guys be offended if I asked who the hell
you were?”
The man looked genuinely surprised….”I
thought you knew. We’re Delta
Green. You were looking for us.”
He put his pipe away. The day was perfect. He
marveled at the way the puffy clouds looked and thought of his friends and
grimmer days of long ago….
That was for another time.
He got up and went to get some more cakes…and maybe some molasses
cookies. He opened the big green
door with the familiar brass knob and moved inside.
He looked fondly to the mantle where his trophies of year’s gone by
sat.
Something seemed out of place.
One of the short swords had fallen.
He retrieved it and moved it back in its
place. But before he put it back.
He noticed an old letter on the ground among the firewood.
It must
have fallen of the mantle.
He thought.
He opened it.
My good friend.
I must call upon your esteemed services once again.
All previous conditions apply. The
shadows are moving. Dark times are
once again ahead. Move to Amon Sul. Please believe that I am well and truly
Yours,
Your friend….G.
P.S.
Aragorn will meet you there.
“Smaug!” Frodo shouted. He looked at the date on the letter…. it was over three
weeks old!
